


The Sun is Frozen

by yourenotfree



Category: Shameless (US)
Genre: Canon compliant up to the end of season five, M/M, Reunion, basically Mandy moves back to Chicago and Mickey goes to see her, because I love pain, but an actual happy ending whee, excpet Mickey doesn't get arrested, he gets tf out of there though, okay so this is defiantly angsty
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-31
Updated: 2016-04-07
Packaged: 2018-05-30 06:46:33
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 5,075
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6413227
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/yourenotfree/pseuds/yourenotfree
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>They always have had more in common than any other Milkovich siblings. </p><p>Or, Mickey returns to the Southside two years after the breakup.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. If I Had a Heart

**Author's Note:**

> Lauren, why do you always somehow find an important role for Mandy in your works?
> 
> Because she is one of my absolute favorites (second only to her brother) and she deserved so much more recognition on the show than she got. What a fantastic and dynamic character.
> 
> This is three parts.

This is a mistake. 

Mickey feels it the second he steps off the all-too-familiar train platform. The pit in his stomach churns faster and faster the closer he gets to the house that used to be his home. All the windows are dark, and Mickey seriously considers turning the fuck around and putting as much distance between himself and this place as he possibly can. 

But the urge passes. It's not like the Milkovich House of Horrors can hurt him anymore. It's not like anything can hurt him anymore. 

He sees a figure on the porch, and for half a second, a memory snaps to the forefront of his mind of a different porch and a person he hasn't allowed himself to think about in almost two years. He quickly shakes the offending images off, and forces his legs to bend and propel him forward. 

Mandy spots him, but doesn't get up. She is seated on the landing, knees drawn up to her chest, and an unconvincing smile painted on. Shit. She looks thin. Too thin. Mickey tries to remember when he last saw his sister. Definitely before her big move back to the south side, since Mickey has been successfully avoiding this hellhole like the plague. 

It's been far too long, and Mickey allows himself a minute to feel guilty. He's here now. He came when she asked. 

"Hey, shithead," she greets. "See you made it in one piece." 

He reaches down to give his sister a one-armed hug. It's short, too fucking short, but he squeezes as hard as he dares, a part of him afraid that she might shatter in his arms. "How's my favorite sister?" 

Mandy shrugs. "Fantastic." 

"Missed ya," and Mickey immediately winces. Christ, the shit this place drudges up. He wants to snatch those words from the air and stuff them back into his mouth. 

Mandy apparently doesn't notice his discomfort. "Missed you, too, Mick. This place is a hell of a lot quieter without you running around, causing chaos." 

He fishes a cigarette and his black Bic lighter from his coat pocket. After taking a long drag, he offers it to Mandy. She accepts gratefully. "So how are you? How's Yev? He must be what, two? Three?" 

Mickey nods. "He's good. Svet leaves him with me sometimes." He still isn't particularly fond of this conversation. 

Even after all this time, Mickey still struggles with his role as a father. He's getting better, though. Under Svetlana's watchful eye, he's slowly mastered the basics. And even he can admit that his son is pretty damn cute. 

"You two still hitched?" 

Mickey swipes his cigarette back. "Legally, I guess. She lives like one block over. We make it work. For, you know, the kid and shit." 

She nods her head like she understands (how the fuck could she). Mickey observes for the first time that her hair is back to it's old inky black. The dark, intimidating color has always worked as Mandy's first line of defense. She has bangs again, too. Mickey wonders if this is just another method of hiding herself from the outside world. 

"You wanna come inside? Pretty cold out here." Mandy asks this causally, but he can tell that she's shivering. She's not wearing much, just a thin, long-sleeved shirt with no coat. 

Mickey nods for her sake. He isn't cold. He doesn't really feel the cold anymore. He flicks the cigarette casually into the darkness. 

They cross over the threshold into the living room. Mickey shuts his brain off the second he sees the couch, and instead faces the kitchen. "Got any beer?"

Mandy gestures vaguely. "Help yourself." 

He opens the fridge, noting that all it contains is cheap booze and what must be a single slice of leftover pizza. He grabs a beer, and shuts it quickly. The warm liquid slipping easily down his throat is comforting in its familiarity. 

He rejoins Mandy in the living room, mentally chanting it's just a couch, it's just a room, I'm fine. 

He's not exactly sure when he started to believe his own lies. 

"You ever think about moving back?" Mandy's voice brings him back to the present. 

He stares hard into the bottle clutched in one hand. "Nope." 

"Why not?" 

"Same reason you left in the first place. Nothing for me here." There's a silent not anymore attached to that sentence. It doesn't need to be said.

He's not bitter. He really isn't. That part of his life ended years ago, and he's had plenty of time to come to terms with the bits and pieces he has left. 

"I'm here now. We could live together again, all of us. You, me, 'Lana, and Yev. Just like old times." 

Mickey doesn't point out that the "old times" she's so lovingly referring to included another name, one that she's conveniently left off of the list. 

"Don't think so," Mickey turns her down gently. "This place is toxic. Nothing ever changes. Just end up running in the same goddamn circles your entire life." 

Mandy is quiet at that. She looks down at her hands in her lap, clasped so tightly together that the knuckles have gone white. Her hair forms a curtain, so Mickey can't gauge her expression. Finally, in a whisper, she confides, "I slept with Lip." 

The name, one that once might have sent a shockwave of emotions crashing through Mickey, now just falls flat in the air between them. In an even voice, he asks, "When was this?" 

"Couple weeks ago. Just kind of happened, I guess." 

Mickey knows. Mandy and Lip haven't been in an actual relationship for years and years, but that has never once stopped them from continually ending up in bed together. 

"Think that's smart?" 

Mandy snorts softly. "Never." 

"Why'd you do it then?" 

"Just got lonely, I guess. 'S why anybody does anything, isn't it? Because they don't want to be alone." 

Mickey can't exactly argue that. He's made more decisions then he cares to think about because he once was petrified of being alone. 

"You don't still have feelings for him, do ya?" He doesn't know why he's even asking. It's not like it actually matters. Feelings or no feelings, Mandy and Lip would never be anything real. That bridge is completely burned, due almost entirely to none other than Karen Psycopath Jackson. 

Mandy considers for a few seconds. Finally, she shrugs noncommittally. "Maybe. Don't know if that shit ever goes away completely." 

"You should do whatever makes you happy. Whoever. Just be happy, Mands." 

"That's good advice." She cocks her head, a strange look on her face, eyes unreadable. "But you're being a touch hypocritical, don't you think? I mean, look at yourself. You may not be the same pathetic mess of a man you were right before you split, but you still aren't happy." 

"I'm doing just fucking fine." 

His sister narrows her heavily-lined eyes. "You're treading water, but you aren't actually moving forward with your life." 

If Mickey could feel anything, he would probably be angry right now. There was a time not long ago that he was known for his fierce temper. "I am moving forward. Got myself the hell away from here, didn't I? Got my kid out. Shit, even 'Lana." 

"When was the last time you slept with someone?" 

Mickey deadpans. His fingers slip on the beer he has barely touched, but he manages to hold onto it. "We aren't going to discuss my sex life, Mandy. That isn't going to happen." 

"I'm serious, Mick!" 

"I am too. This isn't up for debate." 

Mandy doesn't let up. She's always been stubborn, something that comes along with the Milkovich name and infamous violent streak. "Admit you haven't fucked anyone else. I know you, Mickey. You haven't touched a single person in two years, have you?" 

She is getting dangerously close to certain forbidden topics, and the dangerous little spark in her eye tells Mickey she knows it, too. He doesn't know how to answer her. He can't tell her that he has tried. He has sought out and found strangers willing to bend him over in club bathroom stalls and fuck him senseless. But he cannot feel anything. Not desire, not their hands on his skin. He feels detached from his own body. 

Of course he hasn't had sex in two years. He is incapable of getting an erection.

"No one," Mandy presses on in a reckless voice. "Not since-" she stops so abruptly, it's like she's tripped over her own words. She won't say it either, Mickey thinks, unsurprised. 

They always have had more in common than any other Milkovich siblings. 

Mickey, for the second time tonight, thinks his sister looks like she's made of glass. When had she become so fucking breakable? Was it Kenyatta that finally extinguished her signature fire? Was it Lip? 

Or...or had it been the other one? Because, yeah, Mandy'd loved him too. Probably more than any of the others. 

"You ever eat anything, Mands?" Mickey abruptly changes the subject, hoping she'll take a fucking hint (for once). "You look half-starved." 

She sounds too defensive when she says, "I eat." 

"You got nothing in your fridge." 

"Yeah I, uh, need to go grocery shopping. Been putting it off for a while." 

Mickey sighs heavily. "Look, you gotta take care of yourself."

"Pot calling the kettle black." 

He decides to ignore her. "You got a list somewhere? I'll run out, get us some dinner." 

She relents, standing and walking robotically into the kitchen. She riffles through a drawer, eventually producing a rumpled piece of notebook paper. She hands it Mickey, along with a wad of bills. 

He accepts the list, but shoves the money right back at Mandy. "It's on me. Least I can do is buy my baby sister some dinner, right?" 

He sees the hint of a smile. Maybe the Mandy he grew up with, the one he had always secretly respected a ridiculous amount, is still in there somewhere. 

Suddenly feeling the need to do something, he pulls Mandy into his arms, trapping her roughly against his chest. For a moment, she remains tense in his arms, but she quickly melts into the embrace. His lips drop a quick kiss against her hair. 

For a second, he almost feels something. 

As quickly as it comes, though, it's gone.


	2. If We Should Ever Meet Again

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This can't be happening. What a big, cosmic fucking joke. Like the universe can't help but shove them together over and over again until one of them inevitably murders the other.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As you might notice, I've decided to expand this work to three chapters. At the end of this one, I decided that the story I wanted to tell still wasn't finished. 
> 
> Thank you so much for reading!!

And fuck this, like he's going to allow himself to be thrust into this situation. He freezes, mentally debating whether to cross to the other side of the street, or simply turn and run in the opposite direction. His momentary indecision costs him the upper-hand, and the figure beneath the lights goes stiff, too. 

This can't be happening. What a big, cosmic fucking joke. Like the universe can't help but shove them together over and over again until one of them inevitably murders the other. 

Mickey, who has felt like he's been underwater for the past two years, is suddenly propelled unceremoniously to the surface. Every sense that has been numbed since he escaped this place comes snapping back into focus. 

Of-fucking-course Ian Gallagher would be the one person capable of making him feel something again. It had always been him. 

A train hits Mickey Milkovich right in the fucking face. 

Even from this distance, he can tell Ian is experiencing a similar sensation. 

"Mickey?" He has the audacity to call out into the otherwise silent night. Mickey's blood boils with rage, and he is, again, tripped up by how weird it is to sense emotion in himself. 

And, oh god, he's coming closer, as if perhaps Mickey is just some figment of his imagination. He moves slowly, like he's afraid of scaring Mickey off. 

"Mick." Ian repeats, sounding more sure of himself now. 

Mickey tries to come up with the fastest way out of this situation. He flinches hard when Ian attempts to meet his eyes, averting his gaze down to the pavement. He holds up his 7-11 bags like they have the ability to ward off a fast-approaching Gallagher. "Mandy's waitin' on me." He doesn't know how he manages to force his mouth to produce sound, but he does. 

Even as he says this, though, he knows that he isn't going to walk away. 

Ian is still staring at him like he's the second coming of Christ and it's beginning to grate on Mickey's nerves. "I didn't know you were back in the city." 

"I'm not," is his instinctive response. "I'm just here for one night," he clarifies. 

"For Mandy," Ian looks pointedly at the gas station bags, reiterating what Mickey had said a few moments earlier. "Who I also didn't know was back." 

Mickey shifts from foot to foot. "Yeah, well. She is." 

Ian looks lost for words, wracking his brain for something to respond with. Mickey hates this forced small-talk so much he sees red. 

Maybe he just hates Ian. 

"Mick," Ian says for the third time, soft and almost desperate. "Jesus, I never thought I'd see you again. I never thought you'd come back." 

The older man snorts. "Sorry for inconveniencing you, Gallagher, but I'll be out of your life, once and for all, in just a few hours."

He can taste bile rising higher and higher in his throat. This is too fucking much. 

Ian steps even closer, and Mickey's involuntary response is to drop the bags he's been holding out like a shield, and shove Ian as hard as he can in the chest. Ian stumbles back, uninjured, but there's a different kind of hurt flashing in his beautiful (fucking hell) green eyes that is achingly familiar. 

He wants to throw up because, Jesus Christ, how is it possible that Ian Gallagher still has this much hold on him? 

I hate you, he mentally shrieks. I love you. 

"I'm sorry," and Mickey doesn't know what in particular Ian is apologizing for, because it feels so much bigger than tonight. 

"I don't care," Mickey lies through his teeth. "You're standing directly in my way, Gallagher." 

Ian looks desperate. "Please don't leave. Not yet. Christ, I haven't seen you in years." 

"Two," Mickey snaps reflexively. "Two years." 

He's trying to just avoid looking at the redhead altogether now, because every suppressed memory is coming stampeding back to him, and Mickey really shouldn't be thinking about kissing Ian at a time like this. 

"I wanted to call," the younger boy worries his bottom lip with his teeth. "A thousand times, I wanted to call you. Could never seem to work up the courage." 

"I wouldn't have answered," which, of course, is definitely not true. Had Mickey seen Ian's name flashing on his screen, nothing short of the actual goddamn apocalypse could've stopped him from picking up. But Ian certainly doesn't need to know that. 

There is a long silence following Mickey's obvious lie. Finally finding the nerve to ask Ian the question that's been weighing heavily on his mind since this impromptu reunion, Mickey softly inquires, "How long you been on the meds?" 

Even after so long apart, Mickey knows that this is his Ian. The Ian that he'd known before the bipolar bomb had been dropped directly into their lives. He'd gotten to know both Ian's, and the one currently before him bore no resemblance to the shell of a man Mickey spent weeks trying to force out of bed. 

"How long I been on them, or how long since we mixed the right cocktail?" 

"Both, I guess." 

"About six months ago. And then about eight weeks in, I started feeling like myself again. It's not the perfect solution; I still have...bad days. But," he pauses, and Mickey can feel the redhead's steady gaze trying to find his own, "but I don't feel like I'm drowning anymore." 

I do, Mickey thinks desperately. But out loud, he says, "I'm, uh, glad. It's a good thing, the meds I mean. That you're, you know, taking them."

He finally looks up. Ian levels with him, staring hard. "I know that now. If I had just listened to everyone telling me to take them...well, a lot of things might be different right now." 

"Guess we'll never know." And that's it, Mickey's had enough. He wants out now. He grabs the 7-11 bags from where he'd thrown them, carefully collecting the spilled goods. He makes a move to walk past Ian, but the piece of shit blocks him for the second time. 

He fixes him with a look that sends a hot shiver racing down Mickey's spine. He swallows hard and clenches every single part of his body to keep himself in check. 

"I really am," Ian whispers. "Sorry." 

It almost sounds sincere. 

"Good for fucking you." 

//

Mickey doesn't realize that he is crying until he bursts through the front door of the Milkovich house, and Mandy is on him. "Mick, what the hell? What happened?" 

He turns away from his sister, disengaging from her worried clutches easily enough. He swipes at his eyes, and his hand comes away wet. "Nothing, Jesus." 

"Mickey!" 

He thrusts the bags at Mandy, and storms angrily into his old bedroom. He makes to slam the door shut behind himself, but Mandy catches it, shoving it back open. "Stop ignoring me and tell me what happened!" 

Mickey is shaking, head to toe. He feels so fucking out of control, in a way that is so raw and new. His bedroom is exactly as he'd left it two years ago, and seeing the sheets still mussed and tangled on Ian's side is what finally does it. 

Screaming at the top of his lungs, Mickey grabs the lamp from the bedside table and throws it clean through his window. It shatters on impact, and a rush of freezing, January air hits hits them both. 

And now Mandy is crying, begging him to, "Please, please, God, Mick! Stop it, stop! You're scaring me, Mickey!" 

But he can't stop. He can't stop feeling, can't stop hurting, can't stop wanting.

He grabs a long-empty bottle of Jack Daniels, and pitches it at the dresser. "I fucking left! I picked up, and goddamn left! Why the fuck wasn't that enough?" 

Mandy sobs into her hands, her back jerking up and down violently with each labored breath. "I don't know, Mick!" And she's almost unintelligible through her tears. 

"I don't want to feel like this! I don't fucking want to love him!" 

His sister is on her knees now, like her legs have simply given out. She holds on hand to her chest. "Mickey!" 

"Fuck!"

The rage is gone as fast as it had come, leaving Mickey with a disturbing sort of hollowness. He lands on the edge of the bed, inhaling sharply. He can still hear Mandy behind him, unable or unwilling to cease her terrified crying. 

What a picture they must be. Still just mere children, who have already faced a lifetime's worth of heartbreak.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Still looking for a beta if anyone is interested! 
> 
> (Okay it's actually unreal the amount I love these two.)


	3. If I Could Stop Loving You

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "What do you want?" It's all Mickey can seem to say. Ian makes him stupid. Stupid and weak. 
> 
> Ian smiles that brilliant smile again, and this time it's aimed, full-force, at Mickey. "You," he says simply. "Always you."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Final part :)
> 
> I'm very pleased with how this turned out. 
> 
> Thank you so very much for the feedback, I adore you for reading this more than you'll ever know.

Mickey doesn't remember falling asleep, and he certainly doesn't remember falling asleep against his bedroom wall beside his (finally) subdued sister.

He wakes up disoriented and possibly even more exhausted than when he'd fallen asleep. The previous night comes rushing back, the memories fuzzy and dark, like a nightmare he's woken up and nearly forgotten. 

He checks his phone. It's early. So early, the sun has barely made an appearance. The weakest of light drains inside the small bedroom from the shattered window, casting a warm glow on the broken shards of glass. Even Mickey can find irony in this. 

Mandy looks peaceful in her slumber, mouth smoothed into a content line, and her breathing deep and even. Mickey thumbs her cheek gently, but ultimately decides not to disturb her. He brushes a feather-light kiss to her forehead, stands slowly, and heads into the living room. 

The bag he'd brought last night is sitting untouched beside the door. He never had gotten around to unpacking for his blink-and-you'll-miss-it visit. 

Mickey slowly pulls on his patchy winter coat, and slips his feet into his boots. He slings the bag over one shoulder, and then turns around to face the house. 

It's almost strange, how familiar everything looks. Like if he walked into the bedroom, Ian would still be fast asleep beneath the covers. If he walked into the kitchen, Svetlana and Mandy would be cooking and bickering while Yevgeny cooed from his high chair. 

At the same time, it's so different. The house is emptier, devoid of anything homey. Mickey can still pick out the exact spot on the coffee table that Ian had always placed his various notebooks. He can still see the mountain of filthy dishes in the sink. He can still faintly hear the strange Russian lullabies his wife had sang to their infant son late at night. 

But Ian is not here. There are no dishes, because Mandy no longer eats. And Svetlana is waiting for Mickey far, far away from this place. 

Ian is not here. 

Mickey abruptly faces the door. He knows that when he leaves this place again, he won't come back. It's almost like he is finally allowing himself to mourn and bury the Mickey Milkovich that died two years ago. He is finally letting go. 

It is equal parts gratifying and miserable. 

His hand is on the knob, when a voice stops him. 

"You were really gonna leave without saying goodbye?" 

Mickey lets go immediately, and turns. Mandy has both arms wrapped around herself. Mickey is suddenly struck with the thought that if she lets go, her insides might come tumbling out all over the floor. 

"I just...I need to get out of here, Mands. I can't be here anymore." 

"Ever again," she corrects in a quiet voice. 

He stumble a little. "Come with me." He phrases it like an order, doesn't allow any room for argument. Of course he can't leave Mandy here to slowly disappear. How could he have thought, even for a moment, of doing just that?

Because you're selfish, his brain reminds him. You've always been selfish. 

"I don't think I can leave." She squeezes herself even tighter. 

"You did once." 

She tilts her head, staring at him, bizarrely calm for someone with so many cracks and broken edges. "But I came back. I'm stuck. I'll always be stuck here, I think." 

"No," Mickey says around the lump blocking his throat. "I know why you feel like that, because I felt it too. With," he trips and tumbles and wants to tear his own heart out but he shoves on through anyway, "with Ian. I felt it with him." 

"Stuck," she says again. "Ian made you feel stuck?" 

And, shit, he wasn't saying this right. He never was good with words. "No, Christ, he didn't--no. I felt...tied. To, to, uh, him. Tied." 

Mandy nods slowly, face going blank. "Like if you went to far from him, you'd loose a part of yourself." It isn't a question. Because of course she knows. 

"Yeah." Mickey feels lightheaded, because, shit, he'd never even said shit like this to Ian. And now he was admitting it to Mandy. 

"But you still left," she reminds him. "You got away. How did you do it?" 

Mickey shrugs. "If I left, I would've died, and if I stayed, I would've died. Just in different ways." 

"So you're saying there is no way out?" 

"I'm saying I don't know if there is or not. Not one fucking clue. But I decided to hurt in a place where I at least had a goddamned chance of moving on." 

Mandy is smiling the tiniest bit at that. Mickey pretends not to notice that her eyes are glistening a bit around the edges. 

"Mick, you know you're the bravest person I've ever met, don't you?" 

It takes his breath away a little bit. He supposes he's never really accepted affection all that well. He turns his face towards his feet, feeling his cheeks flame. 

"You too, Mands," he mumbles honestly. Shuffling uncomfortably, he holds both arms out, and Mandy slips into them, still holding herself in one piece. She hesitantly lets go when she realizes that Mickey is doing it for her. 

"Come with me," he says, again, softly into her hair. "I want you to." 

He can feel her muscles tense and then relax. She takes a long breath. "Okay." 

And, hand in hand, they leave the empty house behind, once and for all. 

//

The earliest train leaves at nine-thirty. They reach the platform hours early, and make themselves comfortable on a bench overlooking the tracks. They talk in low tones for a while, before Mandy eventually closes her eyes and naps, the back of her head resting against the bench. 

Mickey wishes he could sleep, too, but he can't seem to find it in him. So he sits and stares, watching busy people hustle past their bench. Far too many times each half hour, he checks the time and grimaces. 

It feels like they've been there an eternity, when someone touches Mickey gently between the shoulder blades. He jumps a foot in the air, effectively waking Mandy out of a dead sleep, and spurring his heartbeat to accelerate. 

Ian Gallagher stares back at him. 

Mandy chokes on air. "Ian?"

Mickey takes four steps backwards. "The fuck do you want, Gallagher?"

Ian addresses Mandy first. He offers her the most heartbreakingly beautiful smile, and Mickey feels his inhibitions drop to a dangerous level. "Mandy!" He exclaims, far too bright for so early. "You should've called me when you got back to the city. Fuck, I've missed you!" 

He pulls her easily into his embrace, and she goes willingly. Her eyes are glued shut, and Mickey can see her lips moving, whispering something over and over again into his ear. 

Ian laughs quietly. "I love you, too, Mands. So much." 

She's practically glowing when he releases her. His eyes fall on Mickey. "Hey, Mick. Fancy meeting you here." 

"What do you want?" It's all Mickey can seem to say. Ian makes him stupid. Stupid and weak. 

Ian smiles that brilliant smile again, and this time it's aimed, full-force, at Mickey. "You," he says simply. "Always you." 

It's then that Mickey notices the suitcase beside Ian, embroidered with his initials. I.C.G. 

Mandy follows the direction of his gaze, and reaches the same conclusion. "Ian," she talks slowly. "Ian, are you coming with us?" 

His eyes don't leave Mickey's. "Yes." 

Mickey's mouth falls open. "No." 

Ian quirks one brow in challenge. "And how, exactly, do you plan on stopping me?" 

"I don't want you to come!" Mickey hurls angrily at him. "I want you to run the fuck on home, and forget I ever existed." 

"Don't be silly." 

Mickey almost falls over. 

"Why?" He forces the word out like it's burning a hole in his mouth. "Why would you leave? Your family is here, your life is here." 

Ian can't seem to stop smiling. Mickey wants to smack the look right off his face. "You're my family. You're my life." 

"Ian, it's been two fucking years since we were anything!" 

"You were gone," Ian says, like that explains everything. "You were gone, and I was so fucked up and pissed off at the whole fucking world. And I messed up. Over and over again, I did wrong by you. And I can't quite seem to get over it." 

"That's your problem," Mickey spits at him. "I don't forgive you. And I don't want you." 

"I can wait," Ian decides quickly. He has an arm tossed casually, so casually, over Mandy's shoulder, keeping her close to him. "I'll wait for you, Mick. As long as it takes. As long as you need." 

Mandy and her brother exchange a look. 

"You ruined me," he tries to tell Ian, tries to make him understand. 

"Good times, bad," Ian recites like a script he's long memorized. "Sickness, health." There's a twinkle in his eye and Mickey wants to scream that this isn't funny. "All that shit. That's what you said, Mick. You don't still mean it?"

The word 'no' is perched on the very tip of his tongue, but something stops him, and he says nothing at all. Ian steps closer, too close. He's suffocating Mickey, and he looks like he knows it, too. 

And then Ian's hand is at the base of his neck, and he's tilting Mickey's face upwards like it hasn't been actual years since they were last in a similar position. Like Mickey hasn't forgotten what it means to be close to someone. 

Ian catches Mickey's mouth with his, molds their lips together effortlessly, as natural as breathing, and Mickey is overcome by how much he had missed this. The soft slide of their hot mouths, the feeling of Ian's tongue carefully touch his own, the pressure of his hands caressing Mickey so very gently. 

It's too much. Mickey pulls away, fights for air. 

"Don't," he snaps, breathless. 

Ian doesn't move any closer, but he also doesn't move any farther away. "I don't forgive me either," he whispers. "Not for any of it. Not yet. But I can wait. I can wait for you, and I can wait for me. Because I love you. The forever kind." 

"Fuck off," but there's no heat to it. None at all. Ian recognizes this. 

"Our train's here, Mick," he informs him. Mandy has a hand on his suitcase. She looks ready to run away with him. She eyes Mickey eagerly. 

The moment extends for a lifetime, but really, Mickey's mind was made up the second he saw Ian. 

He begins walking towards the train, pulling the ticket he'd purchased earlier from his pocket as he does.

He doesn't turn around, doesn't need to. He knows Ian is a half step behind him, as sure as he knows that the sky is blue and grass is green. 

Forgiveness is not one of the better-known Milkovich qualities. Mickey doesn't exactly know how to navigate it. He doesn't, for that matter, know how to navigate Ian, anymore. 

But they've managed to fall apart and then fall together over and over and over again. And maybe it isn't so crazy to believe that they can figure it out together; can figure anything out together. 

They fight, they makeup, they tear each other apart, they put each other back together. 

But, it would seem, that they never quite manage to stop loving each other.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I did promise a happy ending, after all. 
> 
> xx.


End file.
